The 55th Hunger Games
by QuietConspiracy
Summary: ***SYOT CLOSED*** It's been five years since the second Quarter Quell, and there are only three things this year's Games will guarantee: there will be blood; there will be death; and twenty-three families will be damaged beyond repair.


**A/N: To any followers who've seen this story in their alerts: Yeah, it's not an update, and I apologize for making you wait to see what'll happen. What happened? Oh, let's see, school, real life, writer's block...But I WILL complete this story, even if it takes me until I become ineligible for the reapings.**

**To any new readers: Welcome, welcome. The time has come to begin the process of re-telling the story of the 55th Annual Hunger Games. Who will win, and who will die? You'll just have to wait and see.**

**Also: I write in first person, so if it bothers you remember that you don't have to read it.**

**Anyways, onto the story...**

**Disclaimer: If I was Suzanne Collins, Mrs. Everdeen would've died at the end of the first book, and many of the characters I like wouldn't have died at all.**

* * *

Post-54th Hunger Games Victory Tour

Interview Center

Head Gamemaker Cynthia Rouge's POV

* * *

"And now, the lovely lady who has pulled off four successful and spectacular Games in a row. You fashionistas know her as the neon vampire, but the world knows her as CYNTHIAAAA ROOOUGE!" Caesar Flickerman makes a dramatic gesture with his arm towards the area offstage where I wait patiently.

I take my cue and stride onstage, the hundred thousand audience members screaming my name over and over. Caesar takes my hand, and we sit in the crushed velvet seats where my interview will take place.

"Cynthia, darling, how are you tonight?" Caesar's dazzling smile turns in my direction.

In my best attempt at a smile, I bare my surgically modified canine teeth and casually flip my electric-pink locks over my shoulder. "Fabulous, of course. But who wouldn't be onstage in front of your hundred thousand closest friends?" I smile again as the audience goes wild and I even hear some of the older gentlemen in the back cat-calling.

Pervs. Don't they know I'm only 23? Luckily, Caesar manages to regain the crowd's attention before things get too out of hand.

"Settle down, settle down. Cynthia, you've earned quite the reputation by being not only the youngest Head Gamemaker but also one of the most successful in Panem's history. Tell us, what's your secret?"

I laugh. "But if I told you, it wouldn't be a secret, now would it?" The crowd laughs, and Caesar laughs with them.

"I suppose you've got a point there. Wouldn't want too many people hounding after your genius."

"Genius? Oh Caesar, quit the flattering. I'm not a genius, I'm _brilliant_." Another smile, another round of chuckles.

"In your first year as Head, you had the immensely difficult task of following in the footsteps of Delran Ray's Quarter Quell."

I try not to visibly cringe at the mentions of Delran's name. He only lost the job because he felt the one thing no Capitolite, let alone the Head Gamemaker, is supposed to feel at the end of the day: guilt.

"What went through your head when it was announced that you'd be his successor?"

"Shock, obviously. As you can imagine, it's a very big change to go from being an ordinary Gamemaker to playing one of the key roles in running the Games." Caesar nods, and I continue. "I was ecstatic, but nervous that I'd mess up."

"But of course, you haven't. You've had four of the most phenomenally successful Games ever."

"Obviously. Since I've been Head Gamemaker, there's only been one year when the victor wasn't in the top five of the favorites to win."

"Speaking of victors, what are your thoughts on our most recent victor?"

"You mean, what do_ I _think of Pumpernickel Buckwheat?" The crowd goes wild at the mention of the young-yet-muscular boy from Nine. "I've only spoken to him once, on the night he stopped in the Capitol for his victory tour last month, but he came across as very charming, if not a bit quiet."

"And how do you feel about how his Games ended?"

"I feel that his Games ended well, seeing as by the final three he was the favorite to win."

"Is anyone opposed to watching the end of these games?" The audience responds with a chorus of "NO"s, and Caesar chuckles. "I thought not."

My chair swivels to face the screen rising from behind me, and I watch with the audience as the final three from last year's Games enter the finale.

* * *

_On screen, two girls and one boy break into a mad dash to avoid the darkness closing in, stopping only when they reach the Cornucopia. When they arrive, they do nothing but stop and stare at each other, wondering how each of them have made it this far._

_The younger girl is the first to break the silence. "So now what?"_

* * *

I remember her quite well. Sweet little Dahlia Ellis, only twelve years old, scored a three in training, and from District Six. It's a pity I'm so involved in the Games; otherwise, I might have sent her a sponsor gift or two. She was definitely the underdog now; almost nobody had expected her to make it past the bloodbath, let alone into the finale.

I turn my attention back to the screen.

* * *

_The boy shrugs and the older girl snorts and rolls her eyes. "It's the Hunger Games, stupid. We fight to the death, and two of us die. It's not that complicated."_

* * *

Ah, the little ray of sunshine that was District Four's Marina Corwin. Rather snarky, often condescending, and not terribly well-liked. But, she was sixteen, attractive enough, and managed to earn a seven.

* * *

_The boy speaks up. "There's no need to be such a bee-yatch, Four. Jesus."_

* * *

And that would be our soon-to-be-victor, Pumpernickel. Or Nick, as he said in his interviews. Having scored a nine in training, nobody was surprised when he joined the Careers; however, nobody was expecting him to slit the others' throats as they slept. He was as clever as he was strong, that was for certain.

* * *

_Marina smirks and shakes her head. "Puh-lease. You know the audience is loving it, and they'll love it even more when I take you down, Nine. How the hell did you make it into the Careers, anyways?"_

_Nick's deep brown eyes darken with every syllable out of his mouth. "Simple. I had something you didn't have. You may have heard of it, it's called talent." He fakes a gasp at Marina's scowl. "Oh, I'm sorry. I forgot you wouldn't know it if it hit you across your ugly-ass face."_

_Marina gasps. "Why you pathetic little-"_

_"Um, guys?" The two other teens turn to face Dahlia. "Am I the only one who hears something growling?"_

_The snarls grow louder and louder until a mutt bursts onto the screen, closely followed by a dozen or so of its comrades. They are all an absolutely hideous mixture of a lion, cheetah, wild dog, and Pegasus. And they are terrifying._

_The creature in front roars._

_Marina's jaw drops, like something out of a pre-Dark Days bad horror movie. "Holy shit."_

_Nick bellows loud enough to be heard over the cacophony. "RUN!"_

_Neither girl objects to this idea._

* * *

I close my eyes in preparation for what is next. I don't want to relive the next few moments on-screen, but there's nothing I can do to turn off the sounds.

* * *

_Marina and Nick move quickly enough to escape the mutts, but Dahlia's little legs don't quite move fast enough to escape as well._

_The camera swivels to focus on the two older tributes, who've escaped the mutt pack and are left to hear Dahlia's terrified shrieks mixed in with the mutts' snarls. Nick grimaces; Marina's stoic. Eventually, the little girl's cannon goes off and the growling stops as the mutts vanish as quickly as they appeared._

* * *

I reopen my eyes. Thank God that's over; it was bad enough seeing it once, especially if you're the one who indirectly caused the whole situation to happen.

* * *

_Marina turns around and faces Nick. "Well, I guess it's just you and me now, Nine."_

_Nick draws his sword from its holder on his belt. "No shit, dumbass."_

_Marina scowls and grabs her lone weapon. The long, serrated knife has a blade as long as her forearm, which is completely doused in blood._

_Suddenly, Marina begins to back away from Nick. When she's about ten yards away, she stops. Nick raises an eyebrow in question._

_And then, Marina charges. She tackles Nick to the ground, causing him to cry out and drop his sword in surprise._

_She's straddling his chest with her legs and holding the tip of the knife less than an inch from his forehead. Nick's breathing heavily, trying not to hyperventilate. Marina smirks; she has him exactly where she wants him._

_"Any last words before you die so I may be victor, Nine?" She laughs, a high-pitched and grating sound that's really not that pleasant._

_"Yes, actually. Two words, Four." The vaguest smile is twitching at the corners of his mouth._

_"And they would be?"_

_"You're wrong." In a sudden burst of strength, Nick stands up and dumps Marina onto the ground. He picks her up by her shirt collar and throws her as easily as if she weighed nothing. She slams into the ground, and blood starts gushing out of her head. She moans._

_Nick grabs his sword and runs over to her. He towers over the girl, whose eyes are __wide with fright._

_He whispers an "I'm sorry." before stabbing her in the stomach. As he pulls out the blade, he finishes "but this is how it has to be." He sits down next to Marina and waits._

_Not thirty seconds later, the last cannon goes off and Nick stands up as the trumpets declare him the victor of the Fifty-Fourth Annual Hunger Games._

* * *

The screen fades to black and descends back into the floor amid the audience's applause.

Caesar laughs. "Wasn't that something, folks?" The audience screams, shouts, and stomps their feet. "So, Cynthia, is there anything you can tell us about your plans for next year's Games?"

"Let's just say that the arena is going to be nothing like nothing you've seen before." I say, ending my sentence with a sly-looking wink.

"Ooh, a mystery! I like it. That's all the time we have tonight. Once again this is Caesar Flickerman signing off. Good night, Panem." Caesar takes my hand, and we stand up. The crowd goes wild and finally, _finally_, the taping ends and it's safe for me to leave the stage.

As I walk off, my earpiece crackles. I'd nearly forgotten the damn thing was there.

A voice. Not just any voice, but Snow's voice. Great. "Well done, Miss Rouge. If you keep performing like this in your interviews, you may just live to run the Fifty-Sixth Games." Then, static.

I take out the earpiece and give it to my assistant, Velariea. "Take this, and lock it away somewhere I can't find it."

Velariea gasps. "But if Snow finds out you've taken it out he'll execute you and-"

"Vel, look at me." She ignores me and keeps up the incoherent babble. "I SAID LOOK AT ME, DAMMIT!" Her startled dark eyes lock on my pink ones, and she stops talking. "Does it _look_ like I give two shits what Snow thinks?"

Vel's jaw dropped. "B-B-But you're-"

"-the Head Gamemaker, yes, I know." I sigh. "You know what? I think I'll keep this thing in." I replace the earpiece. "But tell the bartender to make his strongest drink, please. I'm going to need it."

Vel nods.

"Well, why are you standing there? Go! Go!" I snap. Vel squeaks and scurries off.

I walk back to the changing room and replace my red-and-black Head Gamemaker robes with my street clothes: a neon pink one-shoulder tube dress and matching stilettos. I look myself over in the mirror. That's better.

I wonder what my kid sister would say if she saw me like this. I've never been a fan of bright pink; in fact, I despise it. But, for the last seven months, I've worn nothing but pink in her memory. After all, it was her favorite color. I remember that much about her, even if she was only five when I moved here on my own seven years ago.

I should probably change my look soon, though. If word got out of my reason behind my outfit, people'd be touched. That is, until they figured out who my sister is. And I can't become an outcast now. Not when I've worked so hard to escape the life I left back home. Not when I've reached the top of my career.

I put on my confident face and slam the dressing room door shut behind me.

For once, I might actually double up on the drinks. Just to forget about my dead little sister.

And the impeding death threat, but that's always been there.

I just hope somebody can get me a hangover cure in the morning.

* * *

**And that's a wrap! This SYOT has been closed for ages, but if you want details you can check out the list on my profile.**

**I have a couple of questions for you, but they're 100% optional:**

**1) Who do you think Cynthia's sister is?**

**2) What does Cynthia have to hide?**

**3) Will I ever publish a second chapter that actually has something to do with the Games?**

**And the bonus qustion:**

**4) Are you a Doctor Who fan? If yes, what are your thoughts on the actor for the twelfth Doctor?**

**And now, I think I'll just go shut up and work on the blog and next chapter for this story.**

**Cheers,**

**Purple**


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